


Confession

by bothways



Series: Dutiful Sons [1]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Religious Content, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothways/pseuds/bothways
Summary: Murphy struggles with his increasingly strong feelings towards his father. Connor is of no help. They also meet a priest who may need their help in the future but is currently far too interested in Murphy's pretty innocent impure thoughts for Murphy's liking.





	Confession

He'd been feeling quite good just before it happened. Relaxing after a job well done, looking forward to receiving communion from the local priest and just getting started on some banter with Conner. Fucker owed him for that crack earlier about him having their Da's knees. Da had some fucking ugly knees, must have been all that praying. 

Anyway, he'd just started in on Conner after the priest arrived when he felt a band of steel around his arm and found himself propelled towards the door. "Out" whispered in Il Duce's lilt. His father continued to manhandle him until they were about 10ft away from the door of the dingy motel room and then he threw him against the concrete wall none too gently. Personally Murphy felt he'd been remarkably restrained not to have tried to land one on Il Duce the moment he pushed him. You didn't grow up fatherless in a dirt-poor town in Ireland without learning that you never let someone get away with laying their hands on you, no matter how much bigger or stronger than you they are. You roll over once and you'll be a prime target next time. Conner and he had absorbed that fact along with their mother's milk. 

Il Duce wasn't backing up any either. He was usually such a mild-mannered man, Murphy couldn't remember him hissing in anger before even when he killed someone. His father could quietly and cold-bloodedly garrot someone seconds after asking them politely to get to their knees. He struck complete fear into all of his low-life prison associates without ever raising his voice. Murphy had discussed it with Conner and they had agreed that Il Duce had perfected the art of killing in the Lord's name without committing the sin of wrath. However, there was no denying that his Da was committing the sin of wrath right now; although Murphy wisely kept that thought to himself.

"You disrespect a priest just before the act of confession. Whats more an elderly priest who is risking his own reputation and liberty by coming here to administer communion and confession." Suddenly it was like a light-bulb came on, the crack about the impure thoughts to Conner with a priest in the room. Of course his Da would have been upset by that. Jesus Fucking Christ, sometimes he spoke without thinking.  
"Do you know why he does that? He's part of a faction of the Catholic Church that believes in what we are doing. They believe we are carrying out a mission from God. Without the Catholic church we wouldn't be able to do what we do. The food you eat, the motels we stay in, the weapons we use its all funded by the church. Hell, the food you ate as a child and the clothes on your back were all courtesy of the church, keeping you boys and your mother whilst I couldn't."

Murphy had guessed they were funded by the church to some degree as the money never seemed to dry up. Il Duce was pretty frugal with their living expenses but the simple life suited him and Conner just fine so long as they had cigarettes and could have the odd beer. (He didn't even mind that they couldn't really go out much anymore although he could do with a bit of time away from the two of them just him and his hand. And wouldn't that get a bit of scrutiny later in confession.) Their Ma had never said anything about getting funding from the church when he grew up, although there was a lot she never discussed with them. They had been poor as children but there was always food on the table which was surprising really given their Ma's love for a drink. No wonder she sent them down to the church everyday to give thanks.

Il Duce was still not finished. "When people put so much faith in you. Humble and respectful is the right approach. I know you and your brother don't exactly go in for humble but your damn straight going to keep a respectful tongue in your head." He lifted his hand up and ran it over his eyes and through his beard. The same hand that dripped with the blood of the wicked on a daily basis, the same hand that he used to touch Murphy. Touching, always touching, Murphy's head, his hair, his cheek, pats on the shoulder, strokes to the back of the neck, occasionally, especially more recently, a full-blown arm around the shoulders. Like he couldn't get enough of touching. Like he was trying to make up for 25 years with no touching in a few short months. 

Murphy didn't mind the touching. Hell, he was used to it from Conner (when wasn't Conner touching him) and Rocco had also been quite tactile and he'd liked that, responded in kind whenever the opportunity arose. He just wasn't that used to it from a parent. After they had got to a certain age Ma had not exactly been affectionate - indeed his memories of Ma touching him usually involved a hard smack to the back of the head. He guessed he had been a handful especially for a woman on her own. 

Il Duce was as different from Ma as chalk from cheese though. Murphy loved his Ma but he had long ago realised that the chances of getting a positive word from her were pretty low. She did the typical Irish mother thing, never spoke to him and Conner but to ridicule them or upbraid them and call them a worthless pair of pissants but always defended them to the hilt if anyone else were to disparage them. It was just the way things were and he generally didn't mind it, knew she did love her boys in her own way. The only time he got pissed off with her was when she'd upset Conner but, since Conner wasn't really that sensitive, it wasn't a problem that arose often. 

Il Duce, on the other hand, had only been around 7 months and he seemed to find something to praise in everything they did. It wasn't contrived either, he never overdid it. He just seemed to genuinely hone in on the things they did well and marvel at them. They were both good shots, Murphy was meticulous with cleaning the guns, Conner was great at thinking ahead, analysing a plan. More lately it had been other types of praise, "that was a kind thing you did there son", "well done lad, you're always putting others before yerself", "yer good with kids Conner". It was shaking the ground Murphy stood on, cutting down all his well-honed barriers. Maybe he was just a needy bastard but it felt great to have someone (other than Conner of course) think the little he did made a difference.

Right now though there wasn't likely to be any gentle touching or praise, Il Duce was pissed off and you'd have to be a fool to ignore it. He was talking quickly now, almost as if to himself. "Damn it, my father was an easygoing man but if I'd have said that in front of him he'd a punched me in the mouth." It wasn't the first time Il Duce had mentioned his father. Father Sibeal had mentioned him too and from the sounds of it the three of them had been close. "If you'd been 10 years younger I'd have taken a strap to your backside myself until you couldn't sit down." At that his Da seemed to collect his anger again, moving back about 6ft and resting against the wall, hand back over his face. It was Murphy's turn to speak/react and uncharacteristically he was finding it hard. They stayed there in silence for a few more minutes.

It was Conner that broke the silence, obviously he didn't have much to confess or he was as hampered on acting on his impure thoughts as Murphy was what with sharing a room with their father most nights. Whatever the reason he was stood at the door to the motel room, grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Father Donaldson's ready in case either of you have anything to confess. Do you have anything to confess Murph?" 

Murphy loved Conner, he really did. If there was any truth left in his world these days that was it; but, man, Conner could be an arsehole. Like he was loving this, Murphy getting in trouble. Come to think of it he had been the same when they were kids and Murphy would get in trouble with Ma. Well fuck him.

"Da . . " His voice sounded rusty from disuse. That little word that he didn't say out loud very often except to Conner in the dead of night. "I . . . " he tailed off. Knew what he wanted to say, what he should say to make it all alright but it seemed quite hard then, in that shitty motel with the sun beating down on the battered doors, the smell of mould and stale beer that he seemed to live with constantly these days. Once again however his father came to his rescue, knowing what he wanted to say without saying it. 

"I know Murphy. Yer a good lad, just offer it up to the Lord son." Without so much as another look at his bewildered son, Il Duce disappeared into the room they shared to offer up his deepest sins to his confessor.

"Wonder what he's got to confess? Maybe he forgot to polish his halo the other night or something." Conner smirked. It was an old conversation, it was hard to see what sins Il Duce ever committed; he was calm, polite, kind and frugal in his habits, never blasphemed, prayed more than most nuns and if he had impure thoughts he didn't give himself any time to act on them. This time however Murphy had seen him lose his cool. "Wrath."   
"What d'ye mean wrath Murph?"  
"He was angry with me."  
Conner's face took on a look of glee. "Well that ain't that hard Murph. Suspect its an easily forgiven sin." Murphy looked at the ground, for once not responding to his twin's good-natured ribbing. Conner seemed to sense he'd hit a sore spot somewhere and changed his tone, moving to stand closer to his twin.  
"Are you sure its ye he's mad at?"  
Murphy looked incredulous. "Course it was fucking me, I didn't see him grab you by the arm and throw you against the wall."  
"No I mean . . " Conner paused to collect his thoughts. "Maybe he is angry about the time we missed. Things he would have taught us had he been around but its too late now. I mean Christ wouldn't you be angry about 25 years of your life?"

Murphy didn't really like to think too hard about what Il Duce must have suffered in prison all those years. The trials of two little boys growing up without their father seemed to pale in comparison. Yet it was his father that carried all the guilt. He remembered the questions Il Duce asked that first night when Rocco had died and finding their father still seemed like a dream. "Did ye have enough to eat? Did ye have shelter?" and then later, in a quieter voice "Did anyone hurt ye?" They had understood straight away what Il Duce meant and Conner had reassured him quickly although brutally and with a glare "Ma looked after us." The undertone being you weren't needed and yet, growing up that had been so far from the truth. 

Murphy had made a similarly unkind comment 6 weeks later. It was the night they received their second vision from God that they were to follow Il Duce and that if they did not respect their earthly father they were not respecting their heavenly Father. The belt was Conner's idea in one of his typical over the top plans. He loved the symbolism of it, personally Murphy had thought they could just tell Il Duce that they planned on following his lead from now on and maybe doing some prayers as penance for their earlier pride and disrespect. However, he followed Conner's plan as always and found himself kneeling, shirtless before his slightly bewildered father. Slightly embarrassed at the position he found himself, he goaded the older man for being a pussy when he hesitated to follow through with the belt. Il Duce had just sort of smiled again as if he had said something very amusing, lightly touched the top of his head and commented "Ye and me lad, we would have got into it a bit if I'd have had the raising of ye." He had been determined to wipe the smile off of the face of the man who had turned his world around. "Well, you didn't." His comment had struck home, he could tell as with weary eyes his father lifted up the belt with more force and followed through on another one of Conner's stupid plans.

"Do ye think we would have been different Conn, if he had the raising of us."  
"Aye,"  
"In what way Conn?"  
"Don't dwell on it Murph. We can't change it and nor can he. It was all part of the Lord's plan for us and ye shouldn't question it."

The door to the motel room creaked open. "Murphy son, Father Donaldson is ready for ye now." As he walked past his father into the room, Il Duce put a hand out to briefly stroke the tattoo of the Holy Mother on his neck. He felt for a second as his father stroked his pulse point that their two hearts beat together as one in a terrible dance of grief, pain and the Lord's work. 

xxxxxxxxx Father Donaldson's POV

Last of all the darker haired boy came in. He seemed more troubled than the other two who had a peace about them, this boy was restless, unsure, fidgety. He kept his head down. It was no wonder really when you thought what he did for a day job. Priests were not immune from reading a paper and the papers put the total of deaths at the hands of these three to 176 within the last 8 months. When the bishop had called Father Donaldson up and asked him to visit the so-called Saints for confession the priest had expected to hear at least a little remorse from the men about the deaths committed at their hands. So-far the other two had confessed everything but the murders. The lighter-haired twin had confessed to losing his temper and feeling anger and vengeance against a paedophile ring they had recently slaughtered. Aside from that it was all impure thoughts and missing mass.

"Father, d'ye mind if I . . " the boy gestured towards the bed. 

"No son, take as long as you need."

He sank to his knees and prayed for about 10 minutes, crossing himself repeatedly in the middle of his prayers. He seemed slightly more settled when he got up, and came over to the priest. He knelt back down next to the priest and began the sacrament by making the sign of the cross.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been 3 weeks since my last confession."

"Go on my son."

"I have committed the following Mortal Sins. I have disrespected my father once that I recall." The boys breath hitched slightly and his head bowed even lower. "I did this intentionally to hurt him and with knowledge that this was a sin. I have been to confession seven times since this happened and this is the first time I have confessed it."

"I was tempted by impure thoughts three times and I may have consented to them. "

"Did you go on to commit any impure acts following these impure thoughts my son?"

"No Father." He paused and then seemed to carry on slightly reluctantly. "I may have done had I been alone. As it is my father and brother are always with me." The boy looked up at the priest briefly. "Can't get a minute alone."

"Do you think that God is trying to protect you from committing a Mortal Sin by providing you with protectors in the form of your father and brother?"

"I suppose so Father."

"You believe that God has given you a vision, a special calling?"

"Yes Father, I do".

"Is it then so difficult to believe that he would send you any help he could to stay away from sin whilst you commit acts in his name."

The young man grimaced, "no, Father. Its just that having them in the room doesn't stop the thoughts. "

"You know son that prayer is another way of helping your mind to concentrate on God's love and to stay away from sin. You could take your rosary to bed with you or pray it during quiet times when you are otherwise alone with your thoughts."

Another long pause. The experienced priest suspected that this might have been a topic upon which the young man had received plenty of counsel already and found it either boring or slightly embarrassing. However, he replied with a polite "I will try that Father."

"Anything else my son?"

"I was violent towards . . " The boy paused and his face twisted with disgust "towards my neighbour. I grew angry with some men that I had to deal with as part of my calling. This happened at least six times in the last three weeks that I recall. One time I stood back whilst my brother used violence and enjoyed the fear of the victim and one time I was unnecessarily violent to a man."

It was the second time Father Donaldson had heard this particular confession so he wasn't quite as shaken as the first time. He'd been a priest for nearly 50 years and had all sorts confessed to him; however, this was probably one of the most unique confessions that he had presided over given the context surrounding this loss of temper. As an ordinary person it seemed far less culpable to lose your temper and then kill than try to remain dispassionately cold-bloodied towards your victim. But then, Father Donaldson was aware that he didn't have a calling to eradicate evil in the name of the Lord, whereas this boy obviously believed he did. Whether the priest believed the same thing he wasn't sure. He had however lived long enough to know that sometimes he needed to follow that voice inside or his conscience rather than his head at times. When the bishop asked him to administer the sacrament to these "Saints" he could easily have refused but he didn't.

"Were these men you dispatched as part of your calling?"

"Yes Father."

"Explain to me then if you kill these men anyway, what the additional sin involves."

The boy looked up properly for the first time. His voice sounded confident, he was sure of his ground here. "We kill that which is evil, so that which is good may flourish. We send their souls to the Lord for his judgement. We don't judge others that is not our place, we do not torture or hurt, we do not get angry. We are simply his tools. If we hurt another man other than in the Lord's service we are as bad as the souls we dispatch."

This was the same answer that the lighter-haired twin had given earlier. It was obviously something that they had discussed. The priest again felt an overwhelming compunction to relieve somewhat the guilt this boy was so overwhelmed by. 

"I cannot tell you my son if what you describe is a Mortal Sin or not as only the Lord decides that." The dark head bowed again. "However, I will say that there are certain situations which can reduce your personal responsibility for sin and the Lord is understanding although it is good you recognise this as a sin and confess it. You are still young and yet repeatedly you have been put in a position that would tempt an ordinary man, a good man. Most men do not come in contact with such evil directly, people who have broken God's laws in such foul ways. It is natural that you would be tempted in this situation to be angry that such evil exists. On top of that although I know nothing about what you do I am sure there has to be a natural adrenaline flowing through you to allow you to carry out the Lord's work in this way. I think that needs to be taken into account. God's grace is not so easily lost. Continue to pray for guidance and support my son and it will be yours."

"I see Father."

"Anything else my son."

"I have committed multiple venial sins. I am rude and difficult with my brother on a daily basis. I have missed mass. I disrespected a Priest without thinking. "

"Okay my son, for your penance" the dark head bobbed up, "say a decade of the rosary and consider a nightly rosary to combat those impure thoughts. Now make a good Act of Contrition."

The young man bowed his head again and began his act of contrition, the same one used by his father and his brother,   
"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, known and unknown, not only because I dread the loss of heaven and dread the pains of hell, and not only because Thou art my Creator, my Redeemer and my Sanctifier, but most of all because my sins have offended Thee, my God, Who art all good in Thyself and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen."

The old priest made the sign of the cross and said "God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of your son, you have reconciled the world to yourself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the church, may God grant you pardon and peace. And I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen"

"Amen, thank you Father." The boy rose to his full height and the old priest was gratified to see that he looked considerably less agitated than previously. 

"Would you fetch your father and your brother so that I can administer Communion, please."

"Yes Father," He shuffled his feet and looked much younger again. "Um Father I wanted to . . . to apologise for what I said earlier when you were in the room. Sometimes my mouth runs away with me, I spend so much time just with my brother I forget that other folks may be listening." He shot the elderly priest a lop-sided grin. "S'alright lad, I remember being young once." The grin grew wider just before he left the room.


End file.
